


Five times Mulder thought about ABBA (and Dana Scully)

by Frangipanidownunder



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-11
Updated: 2019-02-11
Packaged: 2019-10-26 02:42:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17737484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Frangipanidownunder/pseuds/Frangipanidownunder
Summary: A through the seasons look at ABBA and MSR.





	Five times Mulder thought about ABBA (and Dana Scully)

Pilot

“Oh yes, I’m sure my life was well within it’s usual frame  
The day before you came.” The Day Before You Came

He’s looking at the slides, lining them up, selecting which ones to put into the carousel when the lyric pops into his mind. In a microsecond he sees disco balls and smoky bars, bicycles on cobbled stones, smells weed and remembers the roughness of Phoebe’s tongue against his balls, the way she’d rub her teeth over his tender flesh and laugh when he protested. He blinks and the song fades. The door opens. He doesn’t turn to acknowledge the clipped footsteps.

The Erlenmeyer Flask

“I was sitting by the phone  
I was waiting all alone  
Baby by myself I sit and wait and wonder about you  
It’s a dark and dreary night.” Ring Ring

He’s not exactly sure when he came to rely on her so much. It crept up on him, slithering through his psyche until they became a unit. A team. He’s thought about her at night. Illicit thoughts, bordering on fantasy. Wondered about what prim and proper Dana does on the other side of the dividing wall in a dozen grimy motel rooms. He’s imagined grinding into her so the bedsprings squeal louder than she would. Pinning her creamy arms above her head, framing that fiery hair. He wonders if this would be the best time to say ‘fuck it’ and drive over there, tell her what he wants to do to her. The X-Files are being shut down. There’s nothing to lose. Nothing more, anyway. Instead, he dials her number.

all things

“I was an impossible case  
No-one ever could reach me  
But I think I can see in your face  
There’s a lot you can teach me  
So I wanna know

What’s the name of the game?” The Name of the Game

She’s swaying in the shadows, hesitant. He pulls back the sheets and lets her slide in. She is so light, in body and with her touch. Ghostlike. He shivers. She snuffs gently against his chest and her fingers whisper over his stomach, lower, until she’s taking his shaft in her hand and setting off sparks behind his eyes. It’s too soon and not soon enough. He wants to plunge in to her and take it achingly slowly. Time disappears. Oh yes, Scully, he thinks. Time can just disappear.

Post IWTB 

“I don’t want to talk  
About the things we’ve gone through  
Though it’s hurting me  
Now it’s history.” The Winner Takes it All

She’s left a pair of shoes in the closet. Square heeled, solid, black leather peeling from the toes. There are crease lines across the arch. He picks them up. Sniffs them absently. Leather and sweat and brackishness. He thinks about all the lakes and forests and leaf litter they’ve traipsed through over the years. All the walking in the rain. The running through corridors. The drawing of weapons. The yelling, the fear, the debates, the laughter. He thinks about the laughter. Hears her high-pitched ripple. She hadn’t laughed in years, though. He’d kept her in frustration, inertia, tears and then silence. In the darkness. The shoes are old. Worn down. He wraps them in a garbage bag and takes them to the garage. He can’t bring himself to throw them away just yet.

Post MSIV

“Waterloo promise to love you for ever more  
Waterloo couldn’t escape if I wanted to  
Waterloo knowing my fate is to be with you.” Waterloo

She’s reaching up to find the marshmallows. Sunday morning hot chocolate has become a thing. Her thing. But if all he gets from it is her stretching up and revealing the underside of her ass from beneath his shirt, then he’ll take it. He doesn’t have the heart to tell her he doesn’t like marshmallows. The spongy texture, the sweetness, the goopy way they melt. But she stirs two into his drink and smiles over the top of the mug and he accepts it. Blows the steam away. Watches her sip. Those fucking lips. He could watch her all day. There’s a tinny tune on the radio and she twists to turn up the volume, revealing her cleavage through the deep V of his shirt. It’s ABBA. Waterloo. She hums along, getting the words wrong. And all he can think is Thank you for the music.


End file.
